


Watch Me

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Family, Gen, Gilded Cage, Healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22941691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: Jessica takes it upon herself to care for Malcolm after he's injured.For Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt Gilded Cage.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright & Ainsley Whitly, Malcolm Bright & Jessica Whitly
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Watch Me

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by: the finest home is still a prison if you can't leave

Jessica refused to let Gil take Malcolm home from the hospital. “Heavens, no - you’ll be right back at the precinct. Adolpho’s outside,” she pushed his back, leading him out of the room. An artifact left from failing to take him to the airport.

He had declined to spend recovery at her house, yet she had found a way to get involved anyway. This didn’t make the list of battles he wanted to pick, so he went with it. Gil was his preference, but Adolpho, a cab, the train - he didn’t care as long as he got home.

She buttered him up with a lollipop in the car. Chattered the whole way to his loft. Had clean sheets put on his bed. Made him fresh tea he scrutinized to see wasn’t laced with sedatives.

He spent ten minutes feeding Sunshine, opening her cage and talking to her. She dipped her head for plenty of scritches and he told her he was home now, yet she didn’t want to get out. She was content to be cared for and closed inside with her toys.

Disappearing to the shower, he steamed in the fruity scents of his soaps and shampoos, staying under the raindrops longer than normal enjoying the luxury. Even his towels felt wonderful, soft and gentle against his skin swooping after every drip. He redressed his side and pulled on a henley and drawstring pants, the most comfortable clothing in his drawers.

When he emerged, his mother was waiting to bid him to sleep. He indulged the desire, knowing she was worried. She waited for him to buckle his cuffs and tucked him into bed.

And didn’t leave.

* * *

He got up to use the bathroom, and when he returned to bed, he found her at the kitchen counter. “Mother, I’m fine. You can go home.” He waved his hand toward the door in a lazy gesture.

She shared a smile and a nod, giving the request as much consideration as a crass plea for money. She had a stack of magazines and a glass of wine; she was settled in.

He curled under the sheets, more welcoming than his hospital bed, cozier than he’d felt in a week. The fluff in his pillow was the exact right amount, and the plush that cushioned his form had some give in contrast to the stiff board. His body exhausted from healing, he fell back into the warm pull of sleep.

* * *

Malcolm woke to _Back on My Feet_ playing through his speakers, yet it stopped before he could turn it off. He looked toward the stereo and found, “Mother.” She was still there?

“I have your meds out, and I’ll fix some breakfast for you,” she indicated, walking to and looking in the fridge for what she had to work with.

“Coffee,” he responded. The one thing that might percolate through whatever he was feeling.

Partially broken, yet a full night’s sleep. A rare treasure more valuable than diamonds.

* * *

He bundled up in the living room in front of the TV and soup and crackers appeared in front of him. An ever-filling glass of sparkling water. A Twizzler after he’d had a little to eat.

He didn’t have desire to do anything. Byproduct of his wound or too much sleep, he wasn’t sure, but he was out of it. Not too far toward space cadet to fail to realize he was being waited on.

His glass filled again. “Mother, I can feed myself,” he reminded, unsure if she saw a grown man or a child.

Her scoff begged to differ. “Would you pass a quiz of meals you made before…this?” She waved her arms in front of her in place of naming the situation. She stood at the end of the couch, looking over Malcolm sprawled across it with a blanket up to his chin. Doing better than many, yet poster child for self-care, he was not. 

“Would you?” he countered, knowing she didn’t prepare her own food at home.

“Nonsense, dear.” She returned to the kitchen, noting her end to the conversation.

“I appreciate the TLC, but I’ve got this.” He would have been more convincing standing up.

“Humor me.”

* * *

Day three, Jessica was standing in front of the door when he moved toward the entry from the kitchen. “Where do you think you’re going?” she asked.

Somehow, he avoided jumping out of his skin. Why was she still there? “To get tea.”

“Don’t be silly, dear. We have help for that,” she chided him, pulling out her phone. “Adolpho, could you run and get chai tea and - “ she gestured her hand at her son, curling her fingers to pull out the rest.

“Bread.”

“French bread - check the crust is nice and crispy,” she relayed, looking back to him. He held up his hand at anything more. “Thank you.”

“Mother, you can go home,” he reiterated, hoping the words might sink in.

“Not right now - Adolpho is occupied.” She smiled.

He rolled his eyes and retreated back to the living room.

* * *

Jessica sliced some of the bread and a variety of cheeses and setup a spread in front of the couch. She sat beside Malcolm, fixing him a plate before he could dig in himself.

“Mother, this is oddly domestic for you,” he noted, nibbling a small piece of bread.

“I want to care for my son.” She smiled, busying herself with preparing a cup of tea.

“Last time Ilsa, now you - “

“You were gone in an hour,” she recalled stifling the urge to berate the woman for letting him out of her sight. She’d chewed out Gil and her son instead. If she wanted things done _right_ , this was a rare exception she’d do herself.

“More like half,” he corrected and stopped, realizing he would only be helping her argument.

“Eat - let this counterbalance some of those times you told me I wasn’t loving enough.”

“Mother - “ Oh, she was _enough_.

But it was more convenient for her to take her snack to the kitchen than engage in the conversation.

* * *

_Walking on Sunshine_ didn’t make it to the start of the verse before it was shut off. He didn’t even acknowledge his mother’s presence - just grabbed his phone and sulked to the bathroom.

“Ains, ya gotta get her out of here,” he texted, losing his mind over their mother still in his space. She was giving him everything he could possibly want, yet the most appealing thing at the moment was the opposite - nothing.

“No way.” Her reply popped up before he turned his screen off.

“Ains.”

“No.”

“What’d she threaten you with?” Perhaps if he found the right currency…

“Showing up at my place.”

“I’ll solo two family dinners and take you for an outing of your choice,” he bartered.

“No can do, bro.” Their mother was still holding the interview over her head.

“I’ll double it. C’mon, Ains,” he begged.

“Ains.”

“Ains…”

“Ains!!!”

But she didn’t reply. He was on his own. He flipped to another contact and tried again.

* * *

The knock at the door surprised Jessica. “Who’s that?”

Malcolm jogged from the bathroom where he’d hid. “Gil - we’re gonna go out for a bit.”

Malcolm grabbed his coat, but Jessica stood in front of the door. “Oh, there’s no need.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” His surprise bounced off the ceiling. “ _What_ are you doing?”

“You have everything you need right here.” She gestured her hands around the room.

He shook his head at the absurdity of the conversation. “I’m leaving.”

He tried to go for the door, but she blocked it. “Mother, I will jump out the window.”

“Don’t be _dramatic_.” Her scorn was dredged from the bottom of the river, her voice weighted with toxic PCBs.

The door popped open behind her and touched her back. She seemed to have forgotten Gil had a key. And had been in the hall listening. “Gil! Welcome!” Malcolm greeted with the over-exuberance of finally having someone else inside his home.

Jessica didn’t move. Malcolm pulled him bumping past her and into the kitchen. “Sit,” Malcolm indicated. “Bottomless whiskey, on me.”

“Gil, what brings you here?” Jessica started, overly sweet. Malcolm poured two glasses and took a healthy swig over Jessica’s chatter. “Mal-colm, you should not be drinking that!”

Gil didn’t know what he had walked into - the only context he had was Malcolm’s S.O.S. He took a drink of his own. “We’re going out for Thai,” he fibbed. Malcolm had requested _somewhere_ \- he had no idea where yet.

“Malcolm doesn’t eat Thai.”

“It was Gil’s pick,” Malcolm went along with the ruse.

“He’s not well enough to go outside,” Jessica intercepted.

“Jessica, what’s going on?” Gil inquired, resting his hands on the outside of her upper arms.

She rolled her shoulders, brushing away his hands. “He got _annihilated_ and he needs to _heal_.” Hyperbole appeared to be a familial trait.

“Okay. Why are you here?”

“You watch your son get impaled on a gate and not be here,” she retorted.

He had. In anguishing up close detail at the scene when Malcolm clipped his side hurtling after an assailant. Holding onto him, blood dripping to his pants while they waited for an ambulance. Witnessing pale turn to grey turn to moans of agony as he swayed on his feet. Watching part of the gate get cut off to go with him. Following to the hospital, not knowing if he’d still be with them once they arrived.

She hadn’t. She saw him after surgery, after he was cleaned up and more presentable. After the unknown of whether he was going to be okay had passed. After Ainsley had determined things had settled enough to add the chaos of their mother to the mix.

Things had been tense, but Malcolm was fine. This wasn’t Watkins. This wasn’t like her house. But he knew too well how todays could blend with the traumas of yesterdays. “Jessica, how about the three of us get brunch?” Gil offered, swallowing her fire and returning only patience.

“No, I - “

“We’ll go outside and a few doors down to some of the best French toast you can eat on this street.” Nothing special by Whitly standards, but close enough that retreat would be easy.

She put her hands on her hips, disagreeing with the direction of the conversation.

“Mother, I’m _fine_ ,” Malcolm stressed. “And now we have a police escort. Let’s go.”

“Gil will get the food, then we’ll eat.” She changed the plans to fit her wants.

“I can’t believe this.” Malcolm walked away, retreating to the living room. Anything he had to say would cause an explosion, and he didn’t want to get into it in front of Gil.

“After we eat, I’m taking you home,” Gil informed Jessica, leaving out any opportunity for disagreement. Malcolm needed space, and he’d do what he could to provide it.

“Like hell you are, Lieutenant,” she challenged, grinding her toe into the ground.

He leveled a glare right back at her. “Watch me.”

* * *

_fin_


End file.
